Chasing Ghosts
by Silver Winged Duck
Summary: A collection of one-shots.
1. Galm One

Dark, evil clouds hovered above the arid graveyard. The land was rough and uneven, littered with shrub and cracked soil while all around, the metal graves of many pilots who had fallen victim to the clashes of aces in the skies above. Many bore the faded yellow triangle of the Belkan Air Force, kills claimed by the legendary Galm Team in the great war that had consumed many of the states on the Osean continent. Many of the rusted carcasses remained where they lay, some had been cut into to retrieve bodies of the men and women who had flown them into battle and fallen. It was a place heavy with death.

A rumble echoed across the plains. Someone dared to shatter the silence that had gripped the Round Table in it's talons. The intruder began as a speck in the distance, rapidly drawing closer to the mountain border until the outline of the aircraft was clear to the spirits aimlessly wandering the ground.

A lone McDonnell Douglas F-15C Eagle. A fighter with blue wings.

* * *

Only the sound of the aircraft's heart could be heard in the cockpit, coupled with the rhythmic breathing of the pilot. Eligos Sanderson gazed nonchalant across plains of sand and metal, observing the destruction that was mostly his doing. The victims had all cried names for him varying from Demon Lord, Knight of the Round Table and Mercenary but all had perished under his guns and missiles.

No longer a part of the Ustio Air Force, and not an official member of any military, Eligos was a wanderer. He roamed the skies, his skies, but not in search of enemies. Not in search of peace. He flew because it was home. His home. The Round Table was home to many rumours and stories of the lone fighter that patrolled the area. The Demon Lord had acquired more nicknames in the years after the war, one being the Ghost of the Round Table. That one he had heard plenty of times in bars and pubs by pilots and veterans of the Belkan War.

His radar beeped. It was a sound that Eligos rarely heard in the area, and his bright yellow eyes snapping down to the screen. In his head, he could already hear AWACS Eagle Eye announcing the contact and directing the two-man Galm Team to intercept. "Bandit inbound at vector zero one zero angels ten at five hundred knots." He muttered to himself. "IFF unresponsive. Cipher, engage."

He did as he told himself, swinging the nose of the F-15C Eagle round to face his challenger. For all he knew, it could be a lost aircraft but he doubted it. Lost aircraft don't make beelines for others at high speed.

The gap closed rapidly and as it did,a bad feeling rose in Eligos' bones. His hand moved from the control column to the master arm switch, the fighter was perfectly trimmed to fly straight and level. With his weapons live, he clipped his oxygen mask to the helmet and closed his polarized visor. The other aircraft was almost in AMRAAM range, and Eligos carried four such weapons.

His missile warning system wailed and confirmed Eligos' suspicions. His Eagle flipped effortlessly and dived, flares left where the aircraft had once been. The Demon Lord rolled and loaded the g-forces onto his aircraft as the missiles passed over his head, two smoke trails marking their path.

"Enemy aircraft confirmed hostile." Eligos murmured as he played the role of his own AWACS. His nose was once more pointed at the horizon where the enemy aircraft was and opened the throttle. The Eagle roared in defiance at the one who dared to challenge it, daring it to come closer. "Bandit in missile range. Lock...fox three."

A single Advanced Medium Range Air to Air Missile dropped from the fuselage of Eligos' aircraft. The rocket engine ignited and the weapon shot off like a hound after a fox. He could see the curved path the missile took as it guided itself to the target. His frown turned into a scowl as the weapon failed to detonate. The distance had closed, it was now a duel of short range missiles and, if a victor failed to emerge then, to guns.

A fast-growing speck in the distance came to sight, the bandit that Eligos chased. It was a dangerous game of chicken, neither pilot wanted to engage with short range missiles in case they wasted a shot that could be a game changer later in the engagement. From experience, Eligos knew such head on attacks were useful against less capable pilots but he knew this was more than your average pilot. Average pilots didn't venture into the Round Table alone and engage a single adversary.

He rolled his F-15 onto the starboard wingtip just as the enemy fighter rolled onto theirs. They would pass with just meters between their vertical stabilisers, close enough to see the whites of the other pilot's eyes. But what he saw instead made his heart stop in his chest.

Another Eagle. An Eagle with a red wing.

The image was gone as quickly as it had come, the fighter disappearing into his six o'clock. Eligos had but moments to react, knowing that even a second's hesitation could result in his death. He once more tensed his thighs and braced his body before pulling back on the control column and swinging his aircraft around in a high speed, high g turn. He tilted his head back and looked up, looking through the contrails made by his wingtips and seeing that the red-winged fighter had rolled level and pulled up vertical above him.

Then a voice came over his headset, a voice that sent an icy shiver down his spine.

"Yo buddy, you still alive?"

It couldn't be? Eligos had seen the experimental jet explode over Avalon Dam years ago. Eligos undershot his opponent, not able to change course nor slow down in time to slide in behind his opponent. Instead he too rolled wings level and sent his fighter vertical also, looking up out of the top of his cockpit to keep his eyes firmly planted on the single red wing that haunted him above.

"Those who survive a long time on the battlefield start to think they're invincible. I bet you do too, buddy." The enemy pilot seemed to be taunting him and Eligos felt a burning anger rise through him. Whoever this pilot was, be he an impersonator or Larry Foulke himself, he was intruding upon his skies. There would be little mercy for him today.

"This is the Round Table. Dead men's words hold no meaning." Eligos retorted as he wrestled his Eagle into position behind the enemy, both aircraft still panting and climbing at a near vertical attitude. His HUD flashed as the red-winged fighter drew into sidewinder range and his radar worked to lock onto the target.

Eligos' angered response only made his opponent chuckle, the sound unmistakeable through the headset. "You fired up? Come shoot me down!" The enemy Eagle suddenly stopped climbing and gracefully fell backwards, head over heels like an olympic diver. In seconds, the aircraft was once more coming straight for Eligos. Neither man had time to fire weapons as they once more passed inches from each other.

There was no doubt in Eligos' mind. This man was undeniably Larry Foulke, the famous mercenary turned traitorous terrorist. With a snarl, the Demon Lord followed suit and flipped his fighter over to give chase. Foulke seemed to be recklessly diving for the ground, and Eligos switched to guns. The gunsight flashed on his HUD, and Eligos squeezed his index finger against the trigger.

The gun came to life with a loud _bwrrrt,_ spraying hot orange projectiles downrange at six thousand rounds a minute. Foulke appeared to second guess his action, kicking his Eagle into a wide, diving barrel roll around the stream of deadly twenty millimeter rounds. The ugly orange ground rushed up to meet them. There were mere seconds before it was too late to pull up, but neither aircraft wanted to move first.

Eventually, Solo Wing pulled out of the dive and Eligos followed. They were both but feet above the dusty surface, their engines kicking up a great cloud behind them as they raced after each other. The ground was a blur as Eligos shifted his fighter so he wasn't directly in the jetwash of his former wingman. Even as he kept his eye on Foulke, he barely saw the carcass of the dead fighter jet before he was forced to swerve to dodge it. The dodge brought him into the collision course of a second, and again with tiny flicks of the control stick, he was able to just avoid crashing into it. A glance at Foulke was enough to confirm that he too faced the same problem. Almost in unison, both aircraft rose to just above treetop level.

"You and I are opposite sides of the same coin." Foulke's voice was cool, collected, almost as if he was enjoying the engagement. The very sound of him speaking was enough to give Eligos goosebumps. "When we face each other, we can finally see our true selves. There may be a resemblance, but we never face the same direction."

It was too low for a missile shot,there was too much confusion for effective tracking and the dust cloud kicked up in Foulke's jetwash prevented Eligos from lining up for a gun kill. He was forced to fly in this enemy's five o'clock position, glaring with yellow eyes as if willing Hell itself to rise up and swallow his prey whole. He noted their flight path, and saw the mountains rising up ahead of them. Nature's skyscrapers, Eligos had run many a Belkan down in the canyons and valleys created by the towering rock sculptures. Foulke was aiming for such a canyon, and both Eagles began to rise and fall with the flow of the land.

"Did you know...there are three kind of aces?" Foulke asked, although his question didn't call for an answer. He spoke with a calm as if death wasn't feet away, racing at mach one below them as they drew ever closer. "Those who seek strength, those who live for pride, and those who can read the tide of battle."

The valley walls suddenly engulfed them, blurred greys and browns hemmed the two aircraft in as they continued their chase. Eligos licked his lips where his quick and shallow breathing had turned them cold and dry. The canyon seemed to stretch on forever, the orange and brown beginning to merge into grey and white. Then without warning, the canyon spat them out into a vast white bowl, silver mountains lining the edge and a vast white desert consuming all other colour below them. The dark clouds remained above, adding to the vast expanse of frozen wasteland below in slow white trickles.

"Here comes the snow. It was a cold and snowy day..." Ahead of him, Foulke suddenly pulled into a long, sweeping bank and climbed as he did so. Sensing the moment, Eligos followed the graceful parabolic curve and pulled harder on the flight controls to bring his nose to fully bear upon Foulke. He had dropped behind enough for his AIM-9 sidewinders to growl in anticipation.

Lock! Eligos swiftly loosened a pair of the short ranged heat seeking missiles that registered the twin exhausts of Foulke's jet as the hottest points in the sky and lurched towards them. But in his mind, Eligos knew Foulke was better than to be shot down so easily and his suspicions were proven as the red winged fighter dumped bright hot flares into the sky and twisted away like a snake.

"It's pretty ironic, buddy. Two dogs like us fighting the last battle." Foulke laughed at that, Eligos noted that his adversary had no strain in his voice despite the g forces he pulled. As he followed Solo Wing's manoeuvre, he was able to catch a glimpse of their new battlefield. Mountains stretched as far as the eye could see, a maze of silver and white valleys criss crossing into the distance. Not too far away, an obvious man made structure broke the natural beauty but Eligos knew instantly what it was. They were flying over Valais Airbase.

"So have you found a reason to fight yet...buddy?" The question seemed to ring in Eligos's mind, louder and louder like a bell. The words began to shift, taking new form as the Demon Lord struggled to maintain his posture and keep following Foulke through his calm twisting and turning while tunnel vision threatened to snatch him from consciousness. More sounds began to invade his head as the pressure increased, faint cheering as the bell rang louder. Cries of victory, then one voice could be heard above the rest.

 _"Ring the freedom bell louder! Make it heard throughout the city!"_

The bells merged together into a long, droning beep. Instinctively, Eligos squeezed the trigger on his control stick and his final pair of AIM-9 sidewinders were cut loose and chased their prey. Time seemed to slow, the drone got louder and the missiles got closer and closer to Foulke's jet until they exploded in a bright orange flash.

The noise and pressure fell away as if a heavy blanket had been dragged off. He opened his eyes fully, and released the breath he didn't know he was holding. One by one, his senses returned to him, and his surroundings faded back into view. Grey clouds above a vast dusty wasteland. There was no snow, no ice and no whiteness. The only sounds in the cockpit where Eligos' laboured breathing and the low rumbling of the engines behind him. There was no smoke where Foulke's jet had been, no flaming wreck and no tumbling shards of metal. His radar was clean, and more importantly, his weapon hardpoints were full.

As the scene unfolded, and his mind cleared from the cloud of questions that he asked himself, a single voice came over the airway. It was cool, calm and had a trace of a Belkan accent. There was only one owner of the voice, and the Demon Lord instantly knew who it was. But even as he confirmed the skies were clear and he was alone, the voice spoke to him one last time.

"This is where we go our separate ways."


	2. Mobius One

_IUN Carrier 'Albatross' - Spring Sea, 29th June 2016_

The air control centre of the IUN-PKF Carrier Albatross was dark, and packed to the brim with flashing monitors and sailors typing furiously away at their orange lit keyboards. Everyone was talking to someone, it was a miracle anyone could concentrate on their work. Nobody seemed to notice the commander enter, the blue light shining off his cleanly shaven head as he briskly stalked towards a particular monitor and the young officer sat behind it. "What is it, Lieutenant?" His voice was gruff, and demanded attention.

"Sir, unidentified aircraft picked up on radar bearing zero eight zero angels fifteen headed in our direction. Range two five zero miles and closing." The younger man rattled off clearly and professionally, years of training kicking in. "Sir, it is not responding to any radio calls."

"Who's in the air?" The commander questioned.

"Omega Element are inbound from their CAP, Mobius Element are about to launch to relieve them. AWACS Sky Eye is on station to provide support."

There was barely a second's hesitation before the commander had made his decision. "Launch Mobius Element now. I want them to intercept and ID the unknown aircraft, and I wanted the ID two minutes ago. Get it done."

"Yessir!" The young officer reached for the telephone, and dialed the command bridge.

* * *

"...launch bar switch retract." Major Elizabeth 'Ribbon' Skyra was rattling through her preflight checks with ease, a process she could perform in her sleep. Meanwhile, her Weapon Systems Officer, Captain Tom 'Hanks' Sanderson was just about able to keep up with the redhead sat in the pilot's seat.

"Launch bar switch retracted." He confirmed.

"Flaps not in auto."

"Confirm, flaps not in auto."

"Cycling control surfaces…" Outside, the Boeing F/A-18F Super Hornet's ailerons, rudders and elevators moved freely in response to Skyra's input. The thumbs up from the deck chief confirmed that all control surfaces were moving as expected. "...all good. Checking engine instruments."

"All instruments nominal. Ready for launch."

"Copy, ready for launch. Increasing engine power idle...middle...max." The aircraft growled and buckled as the engines increased their power. The catapult officer gave a thumbs up and snapped the same hand in a knife gesture towards the bow of the massive ship. Skyra imitated the gesture and threw in a quick salute right before the steam catapult jolted forward with a bang, throwing the Super Hornet off the deck and into the skies.

"Good launch." Skyra pitched the nose up, setting her flaps back to auto as she raised her gear and banked away to clear the path for her wingman. "Mobius One is airborne."

* * *

"Mobius Element this is Sky Eye. Relay from command. An unidentified aircraft is approaching two hundred miles from carrier fleet vector zero eight zero and not responding to radio contact. Command wants you two to intercept and ID the target."

The two F/A-18F Super Hornets were armed with four short range Sidewinder missiles and four medium range AMRAAMs. Both pilots were veterans of the Usean Continental War, and the weapon systems officers had several thousand hours in their air with their respective pilots. For all of them, this wasn't their first rodeo. "Roger, I see 'em." Sanderson confirmed from his position behind Skyra. "Single bogey, no IFF squawk. Must be a lost civilian plane."

"But why isn't it responding to radio calls?" Mobius Two backseater Captain Greta 'Snag' Jones queried. It sure seemed like a weird situation. "When an Osean carrier calls you to tell you to fuck off, you generally turn tail and bug out."

"Only one way to find out." AWACS Sky Eye replied. "Commence intercept. ID the target and escort it out of the airspace."

The fighters gave their acknowledgement calls and continued their gradual climb, increasing their airspeed to cruise at just over one thousand kilometers an hour. Skyra settled back in her ejection seat, lowering her polarised visor when they broke through the clouds and into the bright midday sun. It was peaceful, she thought. Skimming the clouds as they approached the target. But something didn't feel right, like a faint itch that wouldn't go away. "Mobius One to Two. Keep your guard up, something doesn't feel right." She voiced her uneasiness to her wingman sat at her five o'clock.

"Relax, Ribbon." The number two pilot Major Elijah 'Holiness' LaPope chucked in his trademark way that always seemed to irritate the flight lead. "I bet it's just a lost child that needs help getting home. No problem at all."

"Three thousand meters to intercept. You should be seeing the bogey any minute now." AWACS Sky Eye interrupted Skyra before she could reply. Sure enough, a black speck appeared to her straining eyes, the lone aircraft they needed to ID.

"Tally ho, one bogey at eleven o'clock." Skyra confirmed the visual. "I'll call judy on the intercept. Holiness, drop back and cover me."

"You expecting trouble, Ribbon?" LaPope chuckled again, but dropped back as instructed. Both planes banked into a smooth parabolic turn to exit on the bogey's six, and Skyra accelerated to pull closer to the aircraft. The outline of the plane grew stronger, and eventually Skyra was on the jet's seven o'clock.

"Target is one Flanker variant. Trying to hail them." Skyra informed. "Hanks, you want to give them a call."

"Sure." Sanderson cleared his throat. "Unidentified aircraft, this is the International United Nations Peacekeeping Force. You are in restricted airspace, please divert your course to vector zero four zero and exit the area immediately." What followed was two minutes of silence from all parties.

"No response. Sky Eye, we're gonna take a closer look." Skyra once more pushed the throttle forward to give the Hornet a little jump of speed, and pulled alongside the aircraft. "What the...Sky Eye, bogey appears to be one Su-37 in Yellow Squadron colours."

"Yellow Squadron? But they've been disbanded since the Continental War?" Jones sounded as confused as Skyra felt. "Sky Eye! Where's the other four?!"

"He's alone." AWACS Sky Eye reported with confidence. "No change in plan. Continue intercept and escort."

Skyra slid her jet closer so she could make out the pilot. The uneasy feeling returned as she studied the cockpit, there didn't seem to be anyone at the controls. And what was that weird blue light that seemed to glow from just underneath the plexiglass. "Sky Eye, target appears to be unmanned..."

Two things happened almost simultaneously. First, the blue glow switched to red, then the Terminator's nose pitched up sharper and quicker than any human pilot would have mustered and the aircraft pulled half a kulbit. Then it fired a single missile.

"Break, missile!" AWACS Sky Eye yelled.

"Oh shi…!" The transmission was cut short as the missile connected with the target. Where Holiness and Snag had once been, only fire and fragments remained. A second blaze began to burn, this one in Skyra's chest.

"Mobius Two is gone, they exploded in mid air." Sky Eye's voice mirrored Skyra's rage. "Bandit confirmed hostile. Mobius One, engage."

Skyra had snapped into a mid-G turn, conscious of her energy management. The Hornet, while a great multirole platform, could not match the agility of the Terminator. Especially one flown by a drone pilot who was unaffected by high-G maneuvers. This would be different from the last time above Farbanti. "Hanks, you got eyes on him?"

"Yeah, target diving just off our wingtip, he's gaining speed." Her backseater confirmed, and Skyra followed his instructions and found the dark aircraft nose down and losing altitude.

"Got him. Mobius One, engaging." She rolled, throwing one wing over the other to dive onto the tail of the rapidly accelerating Su-37. It was still in range of a Sidewinder shot, as became evident when Sanderson switched both the MASS and LAS to fire and the Sidewinder seeker growled in her headset like an angry dog itching to be let loose on the rabbit.

"Got a lock." Sanderson told her, but she didn't fire. Instead her hands were poised on the HOTAS controls, waiting for the drone to make it's next move. It couldn't dive forever, that's for certain unless it planned on crashing into the ocean. As Skyra expected, the drone broke through the clouds and pitched up smoothly until it was flying straight and level, with the Hornet hot on it's heels.

"Fox two!" Skyra released the angry hound on her wingtip and the eager missile shot off with a roar towards it's target. The drone however wasn't going to let a simple missile shot take it down, it snapped onto it's wingtip and banked away sharper than any human pilot. The missile tried to follow but failed, soaring off into the distance.

"Missile didn't connect!" Sky Eye voiced the obvious.

Skyra turned in the direction of the drone, once more pulling a wider and smoother curve. She looked up as she did so, seeing the pale yellow belly of her adversary. Unlike her, the drone had lost a lot of energy evading the missile and was again flying straight and level, seemingly oblivious to the Hornet slowly curving around to it's four o'clock. Until it suddenly broke into a turn pulling at least seven or eight G's as it screamed past the nose of Skyra's Hornet.

"Jesus!" Sanderson gasped. Skyra wasted no time rolling to her other wing and continuing the turn, squeezing her thighs to keep the blood from pooling in her feet and leading to a blackout, often fatal in combat. This bastard wasn't going to stop, and Skyra knew that in a prolonged fight, the drone would win. There was no way even an ace like her could outmatch a drone's endurance. She had to end this, and sooner rather than later.

The drone had stopped it's turn just before it began to stall, and was once again flying straight and level as the Hornet played catch-up, still banking at the drone's eight o'clock and in no position to fire a missile. It was a game the drone could keep up all day, and Skyra raked her mind to find a way to cut it short…

"Mobius One, the drone has a predictable flight pattern." AWACS Sky Eye reported. "It flies straight after pulling a tight manoeuvre. That could be your opening to shoot it down."

Sure enough, as Skyra thought about it Sky Eye's suggestion was right. She decided to make sure, pulling a little harder on the stick and forcing the Hornet's nose round quicker. The seeker on the second sidewinder missile found the target and with the call of "Fox Two!" it was sent on it's way. And sure enough, as the missile arced closer the drone pulled another half-kulbit and added in a twist so it's nose was pointing towards Skyra where it launched it's own missile at her.

"Break!" Sky Eye yelled, and Skyra didn't need telling twice. The Hornet had lost a lot of energy in her last move but she was able to snap into a hasty barrel roll. Sanderson was switched on, and immediately began pumping white hot flares out the back of the Hornet as the drone passed with just meters to spare. The missile punched a hole through the 'barrel' that Skyra had drawn in the sky, it's eyes firmly locked on the flares left in her wake.

Missile evaded, Skyra punched the fighter into maximum afterburner to hurriedly increase her airspeed and cut into another smooth turn. Looking up above her, she found the Su-37 in a gentle climb and once more, flying straight and level. Sky Eye was right, the drone was predictable. It gave her an idea.

"Hanks, ready one AMRAAM." She ordered.

The confusion was evident in his voice. "But they're BVR weapons, sidewinders are better for…"

"It doesn't need to hit." Skyra interrupted him as she brought the Hornet around to chase the Terminator through the clouds and out into the blinding sun once more. "Do it, and fire on my command."

"Roger. What're you gonna do?"

The Terminator had sped up but the Hornet was still gaining on it. The drone seemed to be contemplating it's next move as the AMRAAM found the target. Skyra braced herself in the seat, gripping the controls tightly in preparation for what was about to come. "Something this plane shouldn't do. Ready….fire!"

"Fox Three!" There was a clunk as the release unit pushed the medium-range missile from the fuselage of the Hornet then a hiss as the rocket motor ignited and the weapon shot off. As she predicted, the drone detected the incoming missile and broke into a high-g turn again to successfully shake the missile off. And this time Skyra followed suit, putting the F/A-18F onto it's wingtip and pulling back as hard as she could. The g-counter climbed, 5...6...7...8... and still the Terminator turned. Her thighs and the G-suit worked overtime but the edges of her vision were turning black. Spots danced in front of her eyes, her head screamed in protest and her airspeed dived with her consciousness. _Just...a few...more...seconds…_

The Terminator stopped suddenly and rolled wings level. Skyra almost overshot but slammed the control stick against her other knee and simultaneously rammed her finger through the trigger and flicked the switch to cycle to her guns. She didn't even have the energy to call out.

A single sidewinder shot from the rail, followed by a hail of 20mm cannon rounds. The drone pitched up, a desperate attempt to evade but all it's energy was spent and it stalled. It was easy prey for the missile, which slammed at Mach 2 into the port exhaust nozzle and exploded. The cannon rounds punched holes in the stricken jet's wing, and Skyra was barely able to avoid a collision with the burning aircraft as it began it's final tumble to the waters below.

"Splash one!" Sky Eye cheered, the sudden excited shout snapping her back into full consciousness. Skyra released the breath she didn't know she was holding, and rested her head back against the headrest of the ejection seat.

 _Got 'em._

A weird noise came from behind Skyra, followed by a groan. "Hanks, you still with us back there?" She called, straining to look over her shoulder to her backseater. A thumbs up was thrust into her field of vision, as Sanderson came to.

"Let's not do that again." He grumbled.

"You may have to." AWACS Sky Eye sounded grim. "Two bogeys inbound at high speed, no IFF squawk. Vector zero eight zero, same as last time."

"Look alive, Hanks." Skyra growled as she banked her Hornet, considerably more smoother this time, to point her aircraft in the direction of the incoming unknowns. The adrenaline was pumping through her veins, she was ready for a fight.

"Fangs out." Sanderson replied, although he didn't sound up for it.

 _"Osean aircraft, this is Sol Two of the Erusean Air and Space Administration. Can you hear me?"_

"Sol Squadron, this is AWACS Sky Eye of the International United Nations Peacekeeping Force." Sky Eye replied, projecting an air of authority into his voice. "You are approaching restricted airspace. Turn around immediately."

 _"One of our aircraft disappeared from radar in this airspace. We've been ordered to investigate."_

"Sol Two this is Mobius One." Skyra thumbed the PTT on the international frequency. "An unidentified drone was engaged and shot down after it attacked us. Was this yours?" Silence dawned on the situation for what seemed like eternity. Skyra's plane was still hot, the MASS and LAS still live and the missile seeker heads cooled and ready to find their target. Every second without a response brought the two new fighters closer and pushed the potential engagement in their favour. _Give me the order_. She willed Sky Eye. _Let me smoke them._

 _"This is Sol Two. Turning to bearing zero one zero and exiting airspace."_

"Erusean bastards." Sanderson voiced what all three of them were thinking. "They had it all planned out from the start. That's a violation of the cease-fire agreement."

"That's above our pay grade, Hanks." AWACS Sky Eye replied. "You two did good out here today, without you we would have lost more people. Vapour Element will take over the CAP. Mobius One, return to base."

"Roger. Mobius One, returning to base." The silver F/A-18F Super Hornet banked away towards the carrier.


	3. The Storyteller Boy

The Sky Kid was famous for many a reason. The cozy little bar in the eastern districts of San Salvacion was rumoured to be the oldest public house in the city, and over the years had stayed within the same family and seen little change from the old wood and brick walls with the grey stone floor. It was still supplied by the same old brewery, an age old partnership that had remained strong for just under a century. It was what made the pub a favourite among old regulars and residents of the area.

But what also made it famous was the Continental War of 2004, thirteen years ago. After the occupying Erusean soldiers were kicked out by the Erusean Air Force, the famous Yellow Squadron became the regular customers. The wall vandalised by the excited pilots still remains, a reminder of the damage and hardships under Erusean occupation.

"Why don't you just cover it up or refurbish it?" Was a common question. And the barkeep would always reply "Because it's a piece of history." And so the kill count of each Yellow Squadron pilot remains on the wall with the flight lead Yellow Thirteen on top, Yellow Four just below and Yellow Nine a close third. The only pilot to trump the famous Erusean Ace's impressive record was ISAF's very own legend.

The Sky Kid was currently owned by a woman called Allison Lloris. Twenty nine years of age with long hair the colour of white sand, she polished the dark oak bar clean of evidence from the antics the night before. It was the festive season, snow lined the ground outside and made the bar feel warmer and cozier than ever before. The birds sang their morning songs, and Allison wasn't expecting the streets to stir for a few hours at least. It was peaceful.

The bell above the door jingled unexpectedly, and Allison jumped. She looked up with wide, curious eyes and laid her gaze upon a plain, pretty woman with hair like fire and eyes as blue as the early morning sky outside. The woman was shorter than she was, and had an athletic build outlined by the tight jeans she wore. She wasn't a regular, that much was obvious by the way she stopped to examine the bar, the tables and the kill count on the wall before she made her way to stand opposite her.

As she always did to everyone, Allison greeted her with a smile and bade her good morning. "What can I get for you?"

The woman replied in a clear voice, an accent that Allison recognised as one from the Republic of Amber. "I'm looking for a man named Thomas Lloris."

"He won't be in for about another ten minutes. He usually runs errands in the morning." Allison hid the cleaning cloth under the counter, wiping hands dry on the towel tucked into the drawstrings of her apron. "Can I get you something to drink perhaps? You're welcome to wait until he comes in."

The woman nodded, eyes scanning the handwritten drinks menu on the chalkboard above the bar. "I'll have a hot chocolate, please. And whatever Thomas usually drinks."

Curiosity gripped Allison as she turned obediently to prepare the order. She knew all of her husband's friends, she had met every single one of them, and never had she seen the redheaded woman before. An old acquaintance perhaps? The hot chocolate smelled lovely, and Allison poured the remainder into a mug of her own before she handed the two drinks to the woman. She paid the correct amount of change, and took the drinks into a quiet corner to wait patiently for Thomas to arrive.

And true to Allison's word, her husband pushed open the door ten minutes later with a small gust of icy winter wind following him in after. He didn't notice the woman in the corner, and instead headed straight to the bar with shopping bags in hand to greet his wife with a kiss on the cheek.

"There's someone here to see you." Allison pointed to the corner where the redheaded woman watched the city awaken.

"Who is she?"

"You don't know?" Allison frowned. "She asked for you by name."

Thomas shrugged and left the bags on the counter. He took off his insulated jacket, unneeded inside, the room heated by a crackling wood fire opposite the bar. Running a hand through brown hair dampened by the falling snow, he strode over to the table in the corner and the woman looked up as he approached.

"Good morning." He said politely, careful not to let the chair squeal against the floor as he took a seat opposite her. "You asked for me?"

"Good morning, Thomas." The woman pushed a cup of black coffee gently across the table to rest in front Thomas, the warm aromas of the Aurelian coffee teasing his nose. "I'm Major Elizabeth Skyra of the IUN Peacekeeping Force."

"What can I do for you, Major?" Thomas took a sip of the coffee, the strong but smooth liquid warming his stomach. Well made, as it always was when Allison made it.

"Please, call me Elizabeth." Elizabeth smiled and offered a pale hand across the table for a handshake, and Thomas did the same. Her hands were slim, and hard skin bordered where long fingers and palm met. A contrast with Allison's soft hands.

"Have we met before?" Thomas asked.

"Not exactly." Elizabeth rested her arms on the table, elbows tucked into her body as she leaned forward in her seat. She paused, licking dry lips before she spoke again in her clear but quiet voice. "Years ago after the war, I found a letter. There was no name, but their letter was a story."

Her eyes watched as her fingers danced about each other, one rubbing the unpainted nail on her thumb. A nail biter, Thomas noticed. The ragged nails and chewed skin was obvious. Elizabeth almost seemed nervous, her eyes stared blankly at his coffee cup.

"The story was about a boy, who lived in San Salvacion during the Erusean occupation." She continued, eyes never raising nor fingers stopping their weaving. "He was forced to move here with his uncle, after his parents were killed during the initial Erusean advance."

Thomas said nothing, sipping his coffee once more. The warmness of the room combined with the heat from the coffee cup sent painful shivers through his fingers, once made numb by the outside air.

"He spent a lot of time in this very bar, playing the harmonica for the Erusean soldiers that came here every night until they were kicked out by the Air Force." Elizabeth looked over her shoulder to the faded kill count, next to which hung a framed newspaper page. The same one Yellow Thirteen had pinned up thirteen years ago about the lone ISAF pilot that had destroyed Stonehenge. "The Yellow Squadron. They took him in, he befriended the pilots and crew of the squadron."

This time it was Thomas' turn to lean forward. "I'm curious, what did you all think of the Yellow Squadron?"

Elizabeth smiled. "They kicked our asses during the early months of the war. We sure feared them, they became an ISAF pilot's nightmare. But reading the letter I realised that actually they weren't too different from ourselves. Not the monsters we made them out to be."

With both hands, Elizabeth brought the mug to her pale lips and drank slowly. Thomas did the same. The coffee was cool enough to drink comfortably, the perfect temperature. The pilot set her mug down and using a napkin, wiped her mouth.

"The boy went on to describe how the squadron felt after Yellow Four was killed. That I could relate to, it was a feeling all ISAF personnel felt. But it was only afterwards, once the war had ended, I realised it was a feeling everyone involved, on both sides and those caught in the middle, would have experienced." Her eyes wandered again from Thomas, this time inspecting a robin that had landed on the snow-covered tables outside.

"That's the thing about war. It leaves its mark everywhere. When you're in it, you get tunnel vision. You only see your side of the story, only feel the losses you're taking. You almost forget that on the other side, they're feeling the same as we are."

There was silence. The two of them sat quietly as they pondered the words Elizabeth had spoken. Long enough for their drinks to go cold, and for Allison to collect the forgotten cups from their table with a polite smile.

"So is it true that Mobius Squadron had only one pilot?" Thomas asked. It was a question that had been burning at him for years. Internet searches had never confirmed the existence of more than one Mobius pilot until the assault on Megalith. But surely, he thought, there must have been more?

Again, that little smile. "Perhaps. A lot of history is written by those who win the war. The Eruseans had made up these stories of one pilot with a ribbon who single handedly turned the tide of battle. The Belkans too, there are many tales of the Demon Lord who could wipe out entire armies on his own. And everyone knows the tale of the Razgriz. Every story has its legend."

"And Mobius One was the Usean War's legend." He concluded.

"As was Yellow Thirteen. One war, two legends."

"That letter you have. Have you ever found the one who wrote it?"

Elizabeth looked up to meet his curious gaze. "I've searched for years, but I've never been able to find him." She reached into her pocket, and from within took out a battered envelope and a circular blue patch. "But if you do, maybe you'll have more luck, would you perhaps give these to him?"

Thomas took the envelope. A letter fell out, and he immediately recognised the handwriting. It was the story Elizabeth had been talking about, written all those years ago. "I shall." He reached into his own pocket, drawing out a leather wallet. Inside was a simple handkerchief, white with delicate embroidery. "And if you should ever meet this Mobius One, would you give this to them? I think they'll understand."

Elizabeth took it, her thumbs rubbing the cloth. "I'm sure they will."

Both of them stood, the chairs rubbing the stone floor to shatter the quiet peacefulness for a second. Thomas showed the woman to the door as she collected her jacket, the cold air rushing in to fight the warm fire. Once outside Elizabeth turned, both Mobius One and the Storyteller Boy shared a long knowing look at one another.

"Goodbye, Thomas."

Thomas smiled.

"Goodbye, Elizabeth."


End file.
